The Duchess of Glintland’s Gambit
"I doubt that," Curtis replied dryly.
His brief remark struck the woman silent. She seemed to be choosing her words. In the brief interval as they drifted apart and drew close again, she pressed her upper body against his chest. Curtis swiftly widened the gap between them—by a mere finger's breadth. To onlookers, however, they would appear to be in intimate proximity.
"Dancing a passacaglia in such close contact. Highly creative. You could perform this at the Grand Theater." His sarcasm, however, slid right off her.
"Do you prefer actresses to demure noble ladies, Your Grace?"
"I dislike both."
"Then what do you like?" I can adapt to whatever you wish.
The woman's eyes curved prettily as she whispered. She was so beautiful that he felt a sudden urge to drag Lady Basilure—the jeweler who had gushed over the Grand Duchess's necklace—here to meet her. If it were Lady Basilure, she would probably be delighted even if ordered to pluck this woman's eyes out and fashion them into a necklace. It was a horrifying thought to anyone else, and had they not been in the middle of a grand banquet, Curtis might have actually said it aloud: Shut your mouth before I gouge out your eyes and turn them into a necklace.
But he couldn't. It was all thanks to his foolish aide who had told him to go dance. No, not his aide—his Grand Duchess.
"Don't you think, from the very beginning, that you are far too low-class a match for me?" Curtis said, his mind still anchored on Chloe. Isabelle's eyes curved into crescents once more.
"How cruel. I happen to think I'm quite a decent woman, despite appearances. Of course, compared to Ivanes, Glintland is..."
"You shouldn't say things that would make the Glintland ambassador weep if he heard them."
"It is a quiet place, but peaceful as well." Isabelle spun gracefully, pressing her back against Curtis's chest once more. Then, leaning back as if resting against him, she craned her neck to whisper in his ear. A wave of her perfume washed over him, and Curtis barely suppressed his grimace of disgust.
"At least we don't have an old man who is itching to devour his younger brother."
"Unfortunately, I am already married."
"Divorce is hardly a blemish for men these days. Especially when the spouse is a woman of vastly inferior status."
Ah. Curtis's mood soured. His reason whispered that she wasn't entirely wrong. Yet, strangely, it irritated him.
"An inferior family?"
"My, I wouldn't go so far as to..." Isabelle turned back, taking his hand as she took a few light steps. The Grand Duke bared his teeth in a smile. Then, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.
"Naturally, that is not a phrase that should ever cross your lips."
"..."
"I am the only one permitted to say that." As he spoke, Curtis slid the hand that had been holding her waist upward, lightly tracing her collarbone to her shoulder with the back of his hand. It was a fluid, breathtakingly beautiful motion. From somewhere in the crowd, a soft gasp of admiration arose.
"I suppose Glintland considers a woman with a child to be 'quite decent' as well."
The smile that had been plastered on Isabelle's face cracked for a split second before smoothing over. Indeed. If you were the type to burst into tears over a single remark like that, the King of Glintland would never have made you a duchess. Curtis continued casually.
"Unfortunately, I am a man of Ivanes."
"..."
"I don't know what you're plotting, but you would do well to pack up and go home." There was still a significant portion of the second song left. He wanted nothing more than to fling her away and walk off, but doing so would only invite more tedious complications.
"I have no idea what kind of farce this is. You are being an absolute nuisance."
"..."
"If I followed my instincts, I would have put an end to your life by now."
Only then did Isabelle's pink lips press into a tight line. Curtis cast a sidelong glance toward the King. It wasn't out of any interest in his half-brother. He simply wanted to see what his cheeky Grand Duchess—the one who had promised to introduce him to other women if he went and danced—was up to. It had been a rather grand ambition, but unfortunately, he knew it was impossible.
To be sure, his Grand Duchess was incredibly shameless and possessed a decent grasp of social maneuvering. But her skills weren't extraordinary. With the King looming over the room, she lacked the sheer audacity to casually mingle and exchange pleasantries. Sure enough, he spotted her standing awkwardly among the high nobility, her eyes darting around nervously. A chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop it.
"Ha." The lanky thing.
The fact that Curtis was the commander who had secured the armistice with the three kingdoms carried many implications. He was a man who calculated every variable, keeping a second and third contingency plan in his head should his initial calculations go awry. If Chloe Le David Berk, who was currently running herself ragged, heard this, she would probably want to murder him, but Curtis actually didn't expect much from her. His marriage to Chloe had been an unavoidable checkmate, but there was a reason he had chosen that checkmate. It was the most perfect answer. Therefore, he was fully prepared to tolerate the countless awkward moments and embarrassments that came with the territory.
He knew. The primary reason he had brought Chloe along was that she was a highly capable aide. She did her job well and had a knack for finding workarounds. However, an exemplary aide and an exemplary noble lady were entirely different beasts. Although Curtis had lectured her about the "duties of the Grand Duchess," he had never once expected her to become a flawless noblewoman. He had already anticipated that her clumsiness would lead to a turbulent path.
Of course, the sheer depth of the resentment his aide harbored toward him had been unexpected. Yet, surprisingly, it didn't displease him. For Curtis Shan Berk, who always preferred things to be perfectly designed and orderly, this was a highly unusual development.
In any case, putting that aside, his tall, insolent aide was navigating the situation surprisingly well. To use a metaphor, she was like a duckling thrown into deep water for the first time. He had expected her to sink beneath the surface where her feet couldn't reach, but to his amusement, she was paddling furiously, somehow managing to stay afloat. The fact that this desperate paddling was ultimately for the sake of Curtis Shan Berk was also quite satisfying. If Chloe were to hear this, she would surely wave her hands frantically and protest, No, that's not it at all! But regardless, it was so comical to watch that lanky woman draped in jewels she couldn't identify, wearing a dress, and darting her eyes around that he couldn't help but steal glances at her.
At that thought, Curtis paused. I want to keep watching her because she's amusing? This was a completely foreign sensation to him. What was this?
"You must truly love the Grand Duchess, Your Grace."
It was Isabelle la Glintland who asked, right on cue. Only then did Curtis realize he had been gripping her hand tightly this entire time. He must have been too deeply lost in thought. A sharp frown creased his forehead—a stark contrast to the easy smile he had worn moments ago.
"Me?"
"Is that not the case? You keep looking over at her and smiling."
The words spilling from Isabelle la Glintland, who was pretending to read his innermost thoughts, were utterly foolish. He adopted a cold, serious expression.
"Does anyone truly love a clown?"
Having said that, Curtis felt a sudden, subconscious wave of relief. Ah, I see. It's the same amusement one feels toward a clown.
"...Should you really be telling me that, Your Grace?"
At Isabelle's knowing smile, Curtis winced inwardly. Damn it. He had spoken far too candidly. Yet Isabelle merely smiled and whispered softly.
"Your Grace is also the Count Palatine of Soleria. That means you, too, must fulfill your honorable duties to Glintland."
"A title I never once asked for."
"Then return it."
A dry chuckle escaped him. The seductive tone she had used just moments ago had vanished without a trace. The woman was glaring at him. Curtis deliberately maintained an easy, relaxed smile.
"I'm afraid I can't do that. It is the sole inheritance left to me by my late mother."
"But you are wealthy. Soleria is a poor region. If you reject me, I would at least like you to return Soleria to Glintland."
Soleria, of all things, and at this juncture? Was that land not practically useless to the King of Glintland? He pushed the question to the back of his mind. If she were the type of woman to give him a straight answer, she wouldn't be acting like this in the first place.
"It seems the Duchess of Glintland is unaware of something." The music was drawing to a close. Curtis lightly cupped her chin. "Leaving an escape route open is a fundamental duty for any commander entering a battlefield."
The crowd murmured at their posture, which looked as though they were about to share a kiss. Isabelle, who had been staring straight up at him in silence, offered a bright smile.
"Did you receive the vase I sent you?"
"It looked cheap."
"I doubt that."
The two of them exchanged final smiles, turned away, and parted, bringing the dance to an end. To anyone watching, it was a flawless conclusion.
It was barely half an hour after her dance with the Grand Duke that Duchess Isabelle la Glintland exposed the Grand Duchess's shameful deed to the entire assembly.